The prompt for this week comes from recent happenings in my house. I will spare you all the details of my three year old potty training (you're welcome), but it did lead to the thought, "I'm handing out jelly beans like crack/cocaine ..."
Then my overactive imagination took over, my brain flooded with different scenarios where that line might make sense, and I can't help myself.
Prompt: "I'm handing out jelly beans like crack ..."
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My response:
We waited until dusk to sneak closer to the camp. Unfortunately, we came from side where they'd dug latrines. The reek of human waste mixed with the sharp, sweet smell of the factory on the other side of the tent town and made my stomach roil. The forest we followed thinned and opened up into what used to be crop fields. In the distance, surrounded by twelve foot chain link fence topped with barbed wire and looking more like a prison that what it was, stood the Jelly Belly Factory. Between us and the factory was a large, military clump of tents and vehicles. Guards stood near the entrance road and in intervals around the rest of the camp.
Blake cursed. I could see his eyes focusing on the automatic rifles and bulging muscles of the security.
"We knew we wouldn't be able to just waltz in, you know," I reminded him. My eyes were glued to the camp itself. I waited, watching, my heart bouncing off both sides of my ribs. Then I heard it - the sound of children laughing. Three boys kicked a ball between two of the nearer tents. A little girl in a dusty, pink dress toddled after them, a doll dangling from her fist.
I tapped Blake. He ignored me at first, counting the guards, then looked down at me, annoyed. His hair hadn't been cut in ages, and it hung down around his face. He had delicate features - wide eyes, a fine, straight nose and high cheekbones. Before, the kids at school used to make fun of him. They'd say we were really identical twins - he was too pretty to be my brother. Then the Twilight books came out, and McKenzie declared he looked like Edward. Then the girls were lining up to go out with him. But those days seem so long ago, now, crouching at the edge of civilization ... well, hopefully at the edge.
Blake's eyes followed my pointing finger. He saw the kids, and sucked in a sharp breath. "Do you think?"
I didn't answer. He knew what I was thinking.
One hundred percent contagion. Twelve hour incubation. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours until either full recover or death. Seven point eight percent survival. When we read the numbers on the internet, they seemed so scary. Illness swept across the continent at an alarming rate. People tried to flee ahead of it, and only succeeded in carrying the virus, always one step ahead of the containment barricades. In less than two months, it was over. Either you were one of the seven point eight percent, or you weren't around to care anymore. We thought the worst was over. Then we saw first hand what happened to a civilization that lost ninety-two point two percent of its population. It wasn't pretty.
First we joined the group forming in Liberty, Missouri. I don't remember the last three days we spent there. Blake carried me out, bruised, bloody, and mentally broken. He found a car, and we made it all the way to Reno, NV before someone else stopped us. They didn't come after me, but they worked us like slaves. Again, we ran. Blake started going by himself, approaching smaller groups of travelers along our way, and they pointed us here, to the old Jelly Belly factory on the outskirts of Fairfield, California. If the rumors were right, the guy in charge had a conscience, of sorts, and we'd be treated fairly.
I heard a twig snap behind me. I flipped around, finding myself nose to nose with one of those automatics. Ready or not, we were about to find out just what kind of people we'd found.
They didn't kill us on the spot, so that was something. They even let me walk on my own, once they'd stripped us of our weapons and supplies, binding our wrists with zip ties and urging us forward with grunts. Passing through camp was probably meant to be a walk of shame, but I was so distracted by the women and children who paused to watch us. They stopped in the middle of wonderfully mundane activities like making dinner, sewing clothes, and drawing in the dirt. It reminded me of life before.
We passed through the fence and into the building. I heard the voice coming from the door at the end of the hallway that stood open.
"I can't guarantee delivery over one hundred miles. Past that is too much risk. You come in to pick up your stuff, or you go without." A pause, and I wonder if they can hear our footsteps coming. "No, you don't get a discount for coming in, my prices are set." Another pause. We're almost at the door. "I'm glad you came around to my way of seeing things, then. Yes, sir, we'll have it ready. Nice doing business with you."
Now I could see in. The thin man wore a suit that would have been too small for me, and that was really saying something, considering how small I'd gotten since regular meals ceased. His hair was thin and combed over on top, and I couldn't help but stare. I'd only seen comb-overs on sitcoms. It was hard to believe anyone would actually have one. He reached forward, setting a phone down on the desk in front of him and turning to a man in a white shirt and slacks standing in front of the desk.
The other man laughed. "Brent, you sure have a way with people."
Brent's booming chuckle filled the room. "Who'da thunk it, hey Josh? Three months ago, I was glad to be a shift lead. Now, thanks to seven point eight percent, I'm selling jelly beans like crack. The end of the world hits us, and we Americans still gotta have our candy!"
I shivered. Fair, family man? Or candy drug lord?
Jim looked at the sunset. He particularly enjoyed this time of day, when the sky turned to reds and oranges that reflected off the pond just a hundred feet behind the house. It had always been pa’s favorite too. Too bad pa wasn’t around to see it. Thinking of pa made him chuckle, remembering all the times that pa had said that the past couldn’t be changed. Well, he had certainly shown him…or would show him, or something or other. It was all too confusing to think about, so Jim took another swig of the ‘shine in his cup. If only old pa could see him now. Or, even better, that pompous city boy Rogers, the one that always laughed at the way he talked when he went into town. Too bad Rogers wasn’t here to see him now… all his college smarts and computer talk wouldn’t do him a lick of good here. A half grin appeared on his face as he thought of old Rogers trying to get along without his precious iPad and latte.
ReplyDeleteThe breeze was picking up now, and the sun had nearly slipped below the horizon, so Jim headed back inside the house to avoid the chill that was coming fast. He pulled his cloak closer as he took one last look at the sinking sun, wishing yet again that these people had figured out how to make good house insulation. What he wouldn’t do for his old double-wide. Still, this place wasn’t half bad. And he was quite pleased that he had fallen into that hole what was it, two years ago?
He had been running from the local police after a particularly daring heist on his part. He had boosted a delivery truck right from under the noses of those useless stockers at one of the local grocery stores… he couldn’t remember which anymore… and would have gotten away clean if Dan Whitcress hadn’t recognized him as he drove past. That was the problem with a small town…everybody, including the nosey police, knew your name, your face, and that you didn’t have a job as a delivery truck driver. The chase had been short though. He headed straight out of town and planned on ditching the truck under the Old Creek Bridge to wait it out, but he made a wrong turn and ended up driving right off the end of the broken bridge instead. He still remembered the awful fear as the truck tipped forward and he saw the water rushing up to meet him. He tried to get out, as the water started pouring into the cab, but the doors wouldn’t budge. He had panicked and fainted, but nobody needed to know that.
Next thing he knew, the truck was spinning violently and he was grateful that he had put the seat belt on before he started the truck. Just as he thought he was going to be sick, the truck slammed hard on a rock on the passenger side and tipped onto its side. He remembered bits and pieces of his mad scramble to get out of the truck and run from the police he was sure were almost on him, but really, the next thing he knew, he had awoken in a strange bed in a strange little hut. That had been John’s place. John Danielson. Slowly John had helped him to understand that he was still near the same river, but instead of 2014, it was 1814. After he wrapped his head around that little nugget, he had immediately set out to see if he could get back to 2014. John had led him back to the truck, but, even after weeks of searching, he couldn’t figure out anything. Finally, acceptance had set in, and he had let John pry open the truck to see what it was that Jim had stolen. He still remembered his intense disappointment when it had turned out to be full of jelly beans, and John’s delight when he tasted one.
That was when they had the Idea. All it took was a trip into Portsmouth with one bean and it was a hit. They went like crack. They sold each bean for a half dollar a piece, and before the end of the first year, Jim and John owned everything, and everyone, within 100 miles, and they still had 10 boxes set aside against a rainy day. Now, he just had to start planning how to make sure that the War of Northern Aggression turned out a little different than he remembered from his history books.
Now who is laughing, Rogers?